Mom makes a mock military salute. “Grandma to the rescue. What do you need me to do?”

  I consider the two most imminent tasks: cleaning the kitchen versus washing and dressing the kids. Dirty dishes win over dirty diapers without a contest.

  “Could you get the kids dressed?”

  “Sure,” Mom says.

  I hand her Bram and go free Will from the dreaded highchair. With the expert touch of a professional grandma, my mom takes Will’s hand and guides him upstairs while keeping Bram on her hip. Guess she’s more practiced than me.

  “Do you need any help, Mom?” Jo asks. “I can show you how the dishwasher works and where we keep the dish soap.”

  I’m sure I could’ve figured it out on my own, but my daughter seems to relish in her housekeeping competence, so I let her teach me and then send her upstairs to get changed.

  Forty-five minutes later, my mom presents me with three perfectly washed-up, dressed kids.

  I hug her again. “Thanks, Mom, you’re a lifesaver.”

  If any doubts were left, I can now one hundred percent agree with my sister’s decision to move back to our hometown to be close to our parents.

  “Will you get to work, okay?” Mom asks.

  “I can manage five blocks.”

  “Because Will can stay with me if you want to.”

  This prompts my middle kid to launch himself at me and cling to one of my legs for dear life. “I want to go with Mommy!”

  “Guess that settles it,” I say. “Don’t worry, Mom, we’ll be fine.”

  As my mom leaves, I consider the best way to safely walk those five blocks. I can keep Bram in the sling like Sam did yesterday, and Jo seems mature enough to trail along on her own. But what of Will? Does he walk or does he have a stroller?

  I ask Jo.

  “Will and Bram go in the double stroller,” she instructs me. “And I help you push.”

  “And where do we keep the stroller?”

  “In the garage.”

  I put coats on everyone, strap the kids in the stroller, and I suppose we’re ready to go.

  Except Jo keeps giving me side stares. “Did I forget something, honey?”

  “Did you make Will pee?”

  “Do I have to make him pee?”

  “If he doesn’t pee before we leave, he’ll probably have to go while we’re walking and then do it in his pants.”

  Not a scenario I want to experience. I quickly unstrap Will from the stroller and pick him up. “And how do I make him pee?”

  “Leave him on the potty until he goes.”

  “All right, please stay with your brother while we go.”

  I leave her and Bram in the garage and go back into the house with Will.

  I sit him on the downstairs potty, which I discovered is in the half bath, and wait for a good fifteen minutes before anything happens. We could’ve gotten to the shop already, but I won’t discount Jo’s wisdom. If she says Will has to pee before we leave the house, then he has to pee before we leave the house.

  When I get back to the garage, I find my daughter pushing her brother in circles around the room.

  “Bram was crying,” she explains. “So, I put him to sleep.”

  For a quasi-seven-year-old, she’s extremely mature.

  I kiss her on the head. “You’re an angel.”

  “Angel, too,” Will protests.

  “Yes, you’re an angel, too,” I say and kiss him even if I’m not entirely convinced of his angelhood.

  “Can we go now?” I ask. “Or did I forget something else?”

  “Did you take Bram’s bag, in case he poops himself?”

  I did not.

  Once again, I go back into the house to retrieve the bag, and, finally, we’re good to go.

  At ten on the dot and not a minute earlier, we push our way into the shop, prompting the bell over the door to announce our arrival.

  A blonde young woman who, if I had to describe, I’d say is a doppelgänger of Anita in the 101 Dalmatians cartoon, rushes to welcome us.

  “Caroline, you made it. I couldn’t wait to tell you about this idea I’ve had for next month’s book club. Can I take the lead on that? Or you had something already in mind? Oh, and the administrative software has frozen again this morning, and I had to input half of January’s orders manually. My hand is cramping from all that typing. We should upgrade. On the positive side, Ingram’s delivery has arrived. And we might’ve gone a little over the top with the new inventory, but the amount of sensational new titles.” She pauses to sigh and, well, breathe, hopefully, and the onslaught of words resumes immediately after. “But I agree we couldn’t pass on any of those wonderful books. Do you want to stock the shelves and I man the shop, or would you like me to do the stocking? Or split in half? If you want to split, I call shotgun on fantasy and young adult.”

  I blink at her in shock, not even sure of how many questions she’s asked me.

  “Uh? Caroline?” Pam—this must be Pam—says.

  “I guess no one’s told you,” I say.

  “Told me what?”

  “I had a bit of an accident on Christmas Eve.”

  She gasps, bringing her hands over her heart. “Oh my gosh, are you alright?”

  “Mostly,” I say, and then I get closer to her to whisper in her ear so that Will won’t hear me. “But I have a bad case of post-traumatic amnesia. The last seven years of my life, poof, have gone. Will doesn’t know, so please, no mention of the A-word in front of him.”

  For a moment Pam is too shocked to speak, which must be an accomplishment on its own.

  Then she stutters, “But—but we didn’t know each other seven years ago. You’ve no idea who I am?”

  “You’re Pam, the shop clerk, or so I’ve been told.”

  “Oh.” Her face falls as if I’ve just majorly downplayed her role in my life, which I probably have.

  “FREEE!” Will screams from the stroller.

  I’ve noticed he’s a selective talker. Sometimes he talks in articulate, full sentences, and at other times, he reverts to single-word phrases. Before he wakes Bram with another scream, I oblige his request, unbuckling his belt and dropping him on the floor.

  Will’s feet have barely touched the rugs that he’s already meandering through the bookshelves heading for a specific section of the store.

  “Where is he going?” I ask.

  “Epic Fantasy aisle,” Pam says.

  That seems like an odd choice for a toddler. “Why?”

  “He likes to build railroads and bridges with thick books.”

  I park the stroller behind the counter and follow in Will’s steps.

  He’s already at work, freeing the bottom shelf of all its books.

  “And we let him?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Pam says. “Consider it an alternative display. Customers love watching him play, and often end up picking up a book, especially women.” Pam puts her hand partially over her mouth as if to speak in my ear. “Honestly, it’s one of the few proven strategies to get rid of the non-sellers.”

  I’m about to reply when something brushes against my legs, making me jump with a yelp. An extraordinarily fat cat is brushing against my calves.

  “There’s a cat. What’s a cat doing in the shop?”

  Pam bends down to pick the furry monster up. “This is Winston.” She waves one of his paws in greeting. “The shop cat.”

  “As in he lives here? He wasn’t here yesterday.”

  “Well, no. I take him home with me when I go at night, but he likes to spend his days here.”

  “So, you mean he’s really your cat that you bring to work.” I pause, bewildered. “Why?”

  “Well, because he likes it, and customers love him.” She nuzzles his head. “And it’d be just plain mean to leave him home all alone all day long.”

  The cat meows in agreement and bumps his head under Pam’s chin.

  “Should I have brought Mr. Winkle-whiskers?” I ask, thinking of my cat alone all day. Did Jo forget to tell me?

  Pam shakes her head decisively. “Nooo, nope, no. They’re sworn enemies.”

  “And my cat doesn’t suffer being home alone all day?”

  “Mr. Winkle-whiskers is more of a free spirit, and if he feels alone, he can always visit your mom or your sister. Plus, he doesn’t like the shop as much as Winston and isn’t as well behaved.” Pam scratches her cat behind the ears. “You’re such a good boy, aren’t you?”

  The cat gives her another chin bump and then tries to get free.

  She lets Winston down, but instead of scurrying away, the brown and gray cat lifts on his hind legs, placing his front paws on my thighs.

  “What does he want?” I ask.

  “He wants you to pick him up. He hasn’t seen you in two days and he misses you.”

  I pick up Winston, who weighs more than Bram, and hold him awkwardly in my arms. He purrs all the same.

  “We get along?”

  “Perfectly.”

  “And he doesn’t sharpen his claws on the books?”

  “Nooo, he’s very well trained and uses his cat tree by the café for that. He spends most of his time there being petted by patrons.”

  “Mom.” Jo tugs on my sweater. “Can I bring Winston to the fairy tale section with me?”

  “Sure, honey.”

  I hand over the cat, check one last time that Will is doing okay—he seems taken with his construction work, and ask Pam to show me the ropes of how the shop runs. From basic stuff like how the registry works, to our stocking system and how we run the café—apparently whichever one of us is free also serves coffee and pastries to clients.

  Bram wakes up after an hour, I feed him in the mommies’ room and change his diaper alone for the first time. Thankfully, there’s no poop spillage and I don’t have to remove all his clothes but just the diaper. The result is a little lopsided, but for a first-timer, I’m proud of myself.

  Before I know it, it’s already midday and time to go home to feed the other two kids and myself. Pam told me I hired a new junior clerk, Elsie, after having Bram, and I want to leave before she arrives. I don’t care to explain the whole amnesia business twice in one morning, so I’ve asked Pam to please bring Elsie up to speed before going on her lunch break.

  With some protests, I convince Will to help me put back the books on their shelf with the promise that he can resume his civil engineering later. I secure him and Bram in the stroller and go fetch Jo in the fairy tale aisle. She’s sitting on the rugs, back leaning against a bookcase, deeply immersed in a book.

  “Honey, it’s time to go home,” I tell her.

  “Can I read for another ten minutes?”

  I shake my head. “It’s late already.”

  “But, Mom, Prince Charming is about to wake up Snow White with a true love’s kiss.”

  I refrain from telling her that instead of wasting her dreams on Prince Charming she should focus on the animals that clean the house. What would I give now for laundering squirrels, tidying birds, and cooking rabbits… ah, a girl can dream.

  “You can finish the story this afternoon.”

  “But what if someone buys the book while I’m gone?”

  “Let’s put it in the back,” I say with a cheeky grin. “That way no one will find it.”

  We hide the book behind a stash of other titles and I finally have all three kids ready to go.

  Twelve

  So I Keep Hearing

  At home, I still have enough Christmas leftovers not to worry about cooking. I reheat the food in the microwave and serve Jo first. Bram for once is happy playing in his crib and not being in my arms, which leaves me free to fight with Will to make him eat his figurative vegetables. From his highchair, he stares at me as I approach with his warm plate like the evil character of a Western movie who’s waiting to draw his gun.

  A fiery battle of swatted spoons ensues.

  By the time Jo is done eating, I’ve reached the point of despair. Will hasn’t eaten a single spoonful.

  My daughter stares at me with almost pity in her eyes.

  “Do you know any tricks to make him eat?” I ask.

  Jo studies me for a second. “Well, there could be one, but you’re really opposed to it.”

  Hope blooms in my chest. “If it works, why should I be against it?”

  “You say it’s bad for our upbringing. You and Dad are against letting us watch TV, especially during meals.”

  Right about now I’d sell my soul to the devil to make Will eat, so TV seems like the lesser evil.

  I re-heat his food that has gone stone cold, warm plate or not, and turn on the TV.

  “Any program he enjoys watching?”

  “The Netflix show with the puffins is his favorite.”

  I give Jo the remote. “Can you pull it up?”

  “Sure.”

  With the competent push of a few buttons, Jo has the TV on. An episode begins to play, and Will is so taken with Oona and Baba’s adventures he doesn’t even notice when I bring the spoon to his mouth. He opens up and swallows like a robot. The magic lasts about ten minutes before he pushes my hand away with a decisive, “No.”

  I look at Jo. “What now?”

  “You have to threaten him, put the cartoon on pause until he eats again. But I should say you and Dad really disapprove of this kind of tactic. You say bribes and blackmail aren’t sustainable in the long term.”

  “Pffff, blackmail. This is survival, your brother needs to eat. It’s a necessary means for the greater good.”

  “Okay,” Jo says. “I won’t tell anyone. But Mom, do you think it’d be possible to return the dress Daddy bought me for Sarah McMullen’s party and get the one I really wanted?”

  Juggling remote and spoon, I take a good look at my daughter. Jo basically sold me her silence on my TV transgression in exchange for a new dress. She’s been subtle and delicate with her request, but laced it with a veiled threat. And since I’ve just said blackmail is okay to use, I can’t even call her out on it. Nicely done, kiddo. She’ll be a talented business woman when she grows up.

  “What’s wrong with the dress Dad bought you?” I ask to better understand the situation.

  “It isn’t special.”

  “And why didn’t he buy you the other one?”

  Jo pouts. “Dad said it was too expensive.”

  I pause the TV, waiting for Will to open his mouth and restart it when he does. “How much more money are we talking about?”

  “Thirty bucks.”

  The amount seems so ridiculously low to me, but I still haven’t gathered how bad our finances are with three mortgages and three college funds to sustain.

  “How long before you go back to school?” I ask.

  “Two weeks.”

  I should be long gone by then, but I hope the real Jersey Caroline won’t be too displeased with the arrangement I’m about to propose. “How about I make you a deal?”

  “What kind of deal?”

  “Today you’ve been very supportive in helping me get a hang of things, I’d like to hire you as my PA.”

  “What’s a PA?”

  “A personal assistant. The pay is two dollars a day, times two weeks it should cover the difference.”

  “The minimum wage in New Jersey is 4.13$ an hour and I don’t even get tips.”

  A smile tugs at my lips, but I fight hard not to let it show. I’ve no clue where Jo gets her stats, but she’s a bright young girl.

  “Well, sorry, this is a take it or leave it kind of deal. Do you want that dress or not?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you’re hired.”

  When Will finally finishes his food, I put his plate in the sink and turn to Jo. “What now?”

  “Brush his teeth and put him to sleep. I can stay down with Bram until you’re done.” She shrugs, bored. “Grandma should arrive soon.”

  “Okay, so how does the afternoon work?”

  “Will stays with Grandma and we go back to the shop.”

  I pick up Will from his highchair, he’s already rubbing his eyes with his fists. “Do I have a particular technique to make him sleep?”

  “Read The Very Hungry Caterpillar to him, he won’t listen to any other story.”

  Washing a toddler’s teeth is another experience I could’ve done without in my portfolio. At least the hungry caterpillar delivers on his promises and does a quick job of making Will fall asleep.

  I have to confess that watching him sleep in his tiny bed with his arms up next to his face—the same position Sam sleeps in—he’s really sweet. I kiss his soft, puffy cheek and leave the room.

  After my mom arrives, Jo, Bram, and I get ready to go back to the shop.

  “You can use the single stroller now, Mom,” Jo instructs me. “And I brought my dress to exchange at the store.”

  “Shouldn’t you earn the money first, and then exchange the dress?”

  “No, the party is next Saturday. I need an advance on my salary.” And before I can counter, she adds, “Trust me, Mom, I won’t let you down.”

  I’m sold. I ask her to show me where to find the single stroller, strap Bram in, hang her cellophaned dress on the handle, and we’re ready to go.

  At work, Jo goes right back to her fairy tale while I meet my other employee, Elsie, who’s very empathic in her discretion and doesn’t ask a single personal question.

  Unfortunately, ten minutes later, I can’t avoid bumping into a customer who thinks she knows me and have to explain the situation to the sweet old lady, who probably has nothing better to do than ask me too many questions about the amnesia. The conversation requires more energy than I’ve left after the lunch break.

  Once the elderly lady has been dispatched, I’m more than ready to go hide in a corner and never come out.

  I’m quietly heading for the privacy of the office to hole up for the rest of the afternoon, pushing Bram’s stroller along, when Pam steps in front of me fidgeting, fretting to say something.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  “This week’s newsletter, we ought to send it and pick a read for January’s book club…” She shares a guilty stare with Elsie, who’s manning the café.